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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22912039">The Danger Next Door</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivankaramazov64/pseuds/ivankaramazov64'>ivankaramazov64</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Private Occurences [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fallout 4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Slow Burn, lying</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:40:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,444</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22912039</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivankaramazov64/pseuds/ivankaramazov64</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Kellogg's moving into Diamond City, catching the attention of both the Railroad and local Diamond City reporter Piper Wright. When Deacon finds himself working with Piper to uncover the truth, can he find the information on Kellogg the Railroad needs before he becomes Piper's next story?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Deacon/Piper Wright</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Private Occurences [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1646800</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Deacon knew to steer clear of Piper Wright.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t that she was particularly dangerous, or that he steered clear of danger in the first place. He’d prefer not to get shot, as a general rule, but it never stopped him from doing what needed doing. He’d spied on Institute Coursers from around corners of buildings, led runaway synths through hostile territory, bluffed his way out of various wasteland jail cells. One time he’d even slipped in and out of the Brotherhood Citadel back in the Capital Wasteland, gathering intel on the Brotherhood’s anti-synth agenda. So no, Deacon didn’t avoid danger as a rule - but he did avoid Piper. The Diamond City journalist who paid a little too much attention.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was something poetic there, he was sure, about the pen being mightier than the sword. Except it was a silenced semi-automatic, and not a sword, Deacon had concealed in a hidden pocket of his sweater-vest, and Piper never wasted ink on pens. She needed the ink for her printing press. When she wrote something down, which was often, she’d use graphite, pre-war pencils she absentmindedly chewed while she reviewed her notes at the noodle stand at the end of every day. No amount of firepower stood a chance against that chewed pencil of hers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That’s why he always took operations in Diamond City seriously. Well, Piper wasn’t the only reason. If there was one place in the Commonwealth which the Institute had reliably infiltrated, it was Diamond City. He was used to dodging the Institute, but he’d slipped up around Piper once or twice, and that made him nervous. He’d come into town with the same face twice in a row last year, and though he’d had different disguises, she’d almost made him. He’d gotten a face swap later that day, and avoided Diamond City since, just to be safe. There was no getting out of this one, though: reliable intel that a Conrad Kellogg, one of the biggest thorns in the side of the Railroad, had been seen within the city.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So Deacon was back in Diamond City, for the moment. He’d bought a room at the Dugout Inn, where he was going to meet his contact later tonight. This wasn’t going to be a quick in-and-out mission. It wasn’t a dead drop, or an escort, or a hit. It was going to be an investigation, one with a lot of risks and only one vague lead. And if he was going to spend a lot of time in the city, he needed to avoid Piper for as long as possible, so she didn’t start to recognize his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was going to be difficult, considering Piper was seated two seats down from him at the bar, scribbling furiously into her notebook.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deacon was frozen in his seat, trying to act natural, taking a sip from his drink just a little too mechanically. A few moments ago, she’d blown her way into the room, collapsing herself at the bar and ordering a Nuka-Cola from Vladim while she tore into that notebook of hers. Why was she even here? She always finished her day at the noodle stand, and she wasn’t a fan of the Bobrov’s moonshine, hence the Nuka-Cola. Shit. Shit shit shit. He couldn’t get up right away - it would be too obvious - the insult alone would make her remember him. He had to wait, maybe just until he finished his drink, and pray she didn’t try and talk to him before he had the chance to slip away. He’d have to miss his meeting with his contact, arrange it for another night. There was no way he felt comfortable having a clandestine meeting within spitting distance of Piper Wright.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though for once, she didn’t seem to be paying attention. Her thick black hair tumbled in front of her face as she wrote, and she brushed it back behind her ear, but not well enough for it to stay there, and it parted and fell in front of her again as she leaned even deeper into her notes. The fact that she didn’t make a second attempt suggested she hadn’t even noticed her hair was free of its hold. Maybe he had a chance here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He took another sip of his drink, his eyes darting to the door, and he almost choked. His contact was making his way into the room, shrugging off his patched overcoat and searching the room. Deacon recognized him from the brief description Drummer Boy had given him, and from the suspicious vibes the contact was giving off. His body language made it clear he was looking for someone. He was a contact, not an agent, and a new contact at that. Not even a Tourist, nothing official. Just a sympathetic-minded do-gooder who’d happened to see something important. He had no training, and he wasn’t being subtle. He was about to blow everything, right in the middle of Diamond City, the great green jewel in the palm of the Institute.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Deacon could even think of a plan, before he could fully react to the danger at hand, there was a flurry of motion next to him, of red coat and black hair and a chewed-up graphite pen, as Piper Wright swiveled in her barstool.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You!” she said, pointing the eraser end of her pencil at Deacon’s contact.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The contact’s eyes bulged. He was so nervous, a sheen of sweat could already be seen on his forehead, and that was before he’d been singled out by the Commonwealth’s most relentless reporter. He pointed at himself, slow, unsure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Muh, me?” he asked, brow furrowing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Piper was already halfway across the room, her things scooped up under one arm, that damn pencil already writing away. A description of the contact, Deacon would bet. He was distinctive-looking, six feet two inches tall, with a broken nose that had never healed quite right and startlingly blue eyes. Rough around the edges but good-looking, probably memorable to most who noticed him. And Piper would never forget his description, now. It was in her damn notebook.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, you! Carl Silver, right? I heard you rented a room here, so I figured I’d wait until you showed up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You, you did?” Asked the contact, Carl, Deacon supposed, Drummer Boy hadn’t given him the contact’s name, just a description and a call sign to confirm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Should he just let this play out? He’d been going to flake on the contact for tonight anyway. Piper was distracted - this was Deacon’s chance to slip away. Carl would have a very uncomfortable night, and would eventually realize Deacon wasn’t going to show. Maybe he’d even put it together and realize Piper had been the one to scare him off. Deacon eyed the door to the rooms. Decided he needed to get the timing right - leaving as soon as Piper left was as suspicious as leaving as soon as she arrived.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course I did!” Piper said, an excited edge to her voice which may or may not have been caffeine-induced. “I think you have some juicy gossip you could sling my way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Piper gestured to one of the couches, and Carl took an uncertain seat, looking around as he did so. Piper took a seat at the couch across from him, her notebook open to a clean (well, unwritten on, anyway) page. This was it. Deacon finished his drink, gave Vladim a nod, and began to ever-so-casually get down from the barstool he’d been perched on for the past two hours.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Carl opened his fat mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you the person I’m supposed to talk to?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carl was leaned forward, his hands wrung together, and he was speaking in a whisper which wasn’t nearly whisper enough. Deacon almost tripped over his own feet, and he spun to face the couches before he could think better of it. There was a moment of confusion in Piper’s eyes, but it was overpowered by the hunger in them that followed. She could sniff out a story better than a hound could smell blood. She leaned forward, adopting Carl’s conspiratory pose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure am,” she said, trying and failing to suppress a shark-like grin. “Watcha got for me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh fuck oh shit oh god</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Deacon thought, and he was walking towards the couches, walking towards the couches with no plan whatsoever, but letting this play out was not an option. Whatever this contact had to say would end up plastered all over Piper’s morning edition, the Railroad would lose this lead, and Carl, he was sure, would end up dead and replaced before the day was out. Shit shit shit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carl noticed him first. He was jumpy, on the lookout for people listening in, and he could hardly miss Deacon walking up behind Piper. He saw Carl close down - after all, he had it backwards. If he thought Piper was his Railroad contact - which, come on, really? - then who was Deacon? The silent, unknown factor, coming to interrupt the meeting. An Institute Courser, perhaps. This was getting worse by the minute. Even if Piper up and left right now, it’d be a miracle if he got Carl to trust him after this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Piper didn’t look like she was leaving anytime soon. As Carl caught sight of him, so did she, and she turned to look him up and down, her gaze lingering more than a moment too long on his face. There were few people in this world who ever really, truly looked at you. Most got a general approximation of you, if that. Hair, clothes, one or two defining features. But Piper was one of those few people who looked past all that and just </span>
  <em>
    <span>looked</span>
  </em>
  <span> at you, and it sent a chill up Deacon’s spine. He forced himself not to even glance her way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There you are,” he said to Carl, imposing a lazy smile on his mask of a face. “I was wondering when you’d show.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He said that because he hadn’t yet thought of anything else to say, a story which could get them out of this. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Make something up, Deacon. Now. Fast.</span>
  </em>
  <span> But pressure was cyanide to the imagination. Piper looked between him and Carl, noted the distrust and lack of recognition on Carl’s easily read features.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know this guy?” she asked, redundantly, nodding her head with considerable attitude towards Deacon. She wasn’t asking a question - she was letting Carl know she’d fight Deacon off if he was a threat. Deacon had seen her do it before, and had seen her land in the Diamond City Jail overnight because of it. The last thing Deacon needed was a scene like that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I, uh, I don’t, uh, I don’t know if I - ” </span>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t know</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Is that what this guy was trying to say? That he didn’t know whether or not he knew Deacon? Jesus Christ.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deacon slid his hands into his pockets, casual, casual, so natural and casual, trying to avoid displaying the tension he felt as Carl mixed up some word salad in front of the human lie detector that was Piper. How the hell was he going to - oh. There. His fingers brushed the edge of the little plastic bottle in his pocket. Finally, an idea. Deacon leaned against the pillar, the picture of cool.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We haven’t met before,” Deacon said, flashing Carl a too-bright grin, “but we arranged to meet here. I’m Alex, I’ve got that Daytripper your cousin said you wanted.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deacon pulled the little plastic bottle out of his pocket, shook it so the six little pills inside it rattled. Piper’s eyes narrowed. Deacon could see Carl trying to process the situation, his eyes flashing between Deacon and Piper, trying to figure out which was his Railroad contact. Deacon kept Piper distracted, thumbing a pill out from the bottle and popping it showily into the back of his mouth, maintaining eye contact with her. If she looked at Carl’s face, she’d piece together in a moment that he had no clue what Deacon was talking about. He had to keep her eyes on him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Solomon sells plenty of chems in the market,” she said, open suspicion in her tone. “What’s Carl here need you for?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Solomon’s supply is decent, but this is the good stuff. You know, from Goodneighbor? Good stuff, Goodneighbor, yada yada. They make the chems strong over there because the ghouls usually need a little extra kick to get the same kinda high. Makes Daytripper even more fun than usual. You interested?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Piper’s nose scrunched up, too surprised at the offer to properly conceal her distaste for chems.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, no, thanks,” she said, and she was starting to buy it. The offer had her on the defensive. She was so busy rejecting the chems that she was forgetting to question whether the chem story itself was true. But they weren’t in the clear. She turned back to face Carl again. “I’d still like a word with you, though, Carl.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I, uh,” Carl said, scratching at the stubble around his jaw, “I think I just want to talk to Alex here, about, uh, trying his, uh, his stuff.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Smooth, Carl. The way he said </span>
  <em>
    <span>stuff</span>
  </em>
  <span> instead of Daytripper made Deacon wonder if he’d already forgotten which chem Deacon had claimed to be peddling. But Piper was too furtive at the moment to notice the slip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, Carl. There are lives at stake!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There - there are?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Piper nodded, self-confident.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There are,” she said. “And I think the information you can give me can help me protect people.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I, uh, I guess that kind of obligates me to talk to you then, I guess?” Carl said, his eyes flashing to Deacon’s, for what? Help? Permission?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deacon pushed off of the wall, sliding onto the couch next to Piper, a little too close. Trying to distract her with his closeness, make her uncomfortable. After her reaction to the chem offer, he’d expect that to have worked, but this time she stood her ground. Or, well, she sat her ground, stiffening but not budging and cocking one eyebrow up as if to comment on his rudeness. Damn, he was definitely going to need a face swap after this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Carl looks stressed, and so do you, my friend,” Deacon said. “Whatdya say you and Carl have your conversation after Carl and I have ours? I think you’ll find him much more, ah, relaxed after I’m through with him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deacon threw in a wink at the end, and red coloured Piper’s cheeks for a moment. He could smell the victory. All he’d need would be a short conversation with Carl to establish what Deacon needed to know, and what Carl could tell Piper, if she was here to ask about the same things Deacon was. If Piper didn’t take the hint this time around, Deacon had another lie prepared - the suggestion that Carl had agreed to pay for the chems using “other means.” After all, why else had he rented a room at the Dugout Inn? It fit the story, even if it was a bit crass for Deacon’s liking, and Piper didn’t handle embarrassment well. If he played that card, she’d back off, he was sure of it. Piper hesitated, looking Deacon up and down again, and Deacon was about to say his line when she interrupted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do I know you?” she asked, and this time, the question didn’t sound at all redundant.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deacon’s words died in his mouth, and it took him a moment to recover. A moment that Piper noticed. Her eyes narrowed, and she examined his features more closely. Shit. How the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span> had she made him? He looked completely different from when she’d grown suspicious of him a year ago. He’d had surgery, changed his nose, pulled in his cheeks, dyed his hair a greying brown, grown it out four inches so it hung in wavy locks past his ears. Last time she’d seen him, he’d been a caravan guard with a buzz cut and a fake gold tooth. Deacon scrambled, for a lie, for a smile, to unclench his fists before his knuckles went telltale white.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You ever buy chems from Goodneighbor?” he asked, trying to dazzle her with a grin. It didn’t work.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” she said, dismissing it out of hand, “I’m sure I know you. And what’s more, I think you know me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her tone was accusatory, frustrated. Piper was good with faces, and not being able to place his was making her even more suspicious, if anything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, I just - what did you want to ask me, Piper?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carl, bless him, was trying to take Piper’s attention off of Deacon. Deacon wasn’t sure the alternative was going to be much better, but he couldn’t help but be grateful as Piper’s all-seeing gaze was turned from him onto Carl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Piper said, so eager for Carl’s info that she allowed the subject of Deacon’s face to be dropped - for now. She readied her notebook once more. “You were seeing Geneva? The Mayor’s secretary?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carl seemed surprised. Deacon prayed this was just a gossip piece about Geneva’s love life she was writing, though he doubted it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Still am, uh, I think. We’re on a break - not that kind of a break, just not hanging out together so much, she’s got a lot on her plate right now, is all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. But you’re often up in the stands with her? Did you happen to be there two days ago, around midday?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carl’s eyes flashed to Deacon’s. That wasn’t good. He had the same look in his eyes, a request for either help or permission. Whatever Piper was asking about, it had to do with the information Carl was supposed to be giving the railroad. Carl swallowed, and answered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. Yeah, I’d brought Geneva some lunch. Sometimes she forgets, you know, works straight through the day without eating. Figured I’d stop by.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Perfect,” Piper said, face lighting up. “Did you see anyone meet with the mayor? A specific fellow maybe - scar over his left eye, balding, kinda grizzled looking?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Scar over his left eye? She couldn’t be talking about Kellogg, could she? Why would Piper even know anything about Kellogg? Conrad Kellogg, ruthless mercenary and enemy number one of the Railroad. Kellogg had personally gunned down a friend of Deacon’s four years ago, and had been killing countless other agents for longer than Deacon had been alive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I - yeah,” Carl was saying, before Deacon even had time to process whether it was a good thing or a bad thing that he was telling the truth. “Fellow just like that. Short meeting, but the mayor didn’t look happy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He never does, does he?” Piper said, wryly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, maybe not around you, Piper,” Carl laughed. “He’s usually a cheerful enough guy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Any idea what this mystery man was doing talking to the mayor?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I - ” Carl glanced at Deacon, and Deacon looked pointedly away, examining the dirt under his nails as though this conversation was boring him. He couldn’t afford more attention from Piper at this rate. “Yeah. Well, no. I don’t know what he talked to the mayor about. But he stopped at Geneva’s desk after, and she had to handle something for him, so I know about that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was a surprise to both Piper and Deacon. How did Geneva fit into this?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What did she handle for him?” Piper asked, her tone now naturally hushed and conspiratory, drawn in by the mystery in front of her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, she - she sold him a house. I saw her hand over the keys.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carl glanced at Deacon again, and Deacon felt sick to his stomach. This was definitely what the contact had wanted to communicate to him. Kellogg, taking up permanent residence in Diamond City. If the great green jewel hadn’t been off-limits to the Railroad before, it definitely was now. And why? Was this the start of some new operation of his? Kellogg had never set up shop in any one place before. What was his play here?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really?” Piper asked, and she sounded equal parts horrified and excited. “Do you know to which house?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carl shook his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, Geneva doesn’t give out people’s residences,” he said. “But it won’t be too hard to find him if you try, right? I mean, there aren’t that many houses here. But, Piper, this guy was scary. Maybe don’t go sticking your neck out, just this once?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Piper grinned, snapping her notebook shut and standing, eager to go chasing down her new lead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s what I do best, Carl,” she said. “Besides, you’re right. This guy is scary - he’s got a history of murdering families and anyone who gets in his way. And I want everyone in town to know exactly what to expect from their new neighbor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Piper was walking towards the door, scooping her things into her pockets as she went, twirling her pencil in her hands. Almost as an afterthought, she whipped around, and this time Deacon found himself staring down the end of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she said, and she narrowed her eyes, bit her lip, and he could see the gears turning in her head, see her make one last attempt to place his face. “I’m not done with you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite saying this, she turned and left, headed back out the door into the Diamond City Market. Deacon felt no relief at her departure. Those words, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m not done with you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, made him feel like she was going to jump out from behind him at any moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, uh, do you - do you have a geiger counter?” Carl asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The callsign, about half an hour too late. Deacon put his head in his hands and groaned.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The contact didn’t have a lot of other information for Deacon, once Deacon finally managed to regain his trust. He’d seen Kellogg disappear for a short, maybe 10-minute, meeting with the mayor, buy the house from Geneva, and walk out. He hadn’t seen him since, though he’d been looking. Carl had known the word on the street was that Kellogg worked for the institute, had recognized the man because a caravan hand he’d worked with in the past had talked about trying to hire him. Carl’s cousin was a Railroad Tourist up to the North, so he’d known just enough to get the information to the right people. It was a shame - Carl was expressing interest in joining the Railroad, in some capacity. A well-meaning do-gooder. But he was in Piper’s headlights, too hot to touch right now. Especially if Piper wrote a tell-all about Kellogg. Shit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deacon didn’t tell him any of that, though. He gave Carl the Desdemona schpiel - they weren’t looking for new agents right now (they always were), they didn’t have the resources to train someone up (they never did), it’s not you it’s me (it’s always you). Anyway, he didn’t think Carl had the nerves for it. Deacon wasn’t sure he had the nerves for this himself, after Piper had personally put him through the wringer tonight. But few people could unhinge him the way she could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Welcome to Diamond City, and all that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment the shops opened in the morning, Deacon darted into the basement of the Mega Surgery Center. Doc Crocker was a bit of a creep, but he was a master with a scalpel, and Deacon wasn’t going to feel comfortable going out with this face now that Piper had made it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m not done with you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Jesus, she could be intense. Deacon would think she was crazy if she wasn’t, you know, right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Doc took a little too long with the surgery, saying something about not being able to get his jaw right or something. That he would be perfect if he could just, blah blah blah. Deacon didn’t care about being attractive, he was just trying to not get made. Getting made meant getting killed, or worse, getting the people he cared about killed. Glory. Ms. Boom. High Rise. Tommy Whispers. Deacon had already lost too many people. He couldn’t take risks. “Alex” and the face he’d walked into town with could never be seen again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deacon managed to convince Doc Crocker to let him leave, without the jaw adjustment he so wanted to make. A hundred caps well spent. He sheared off a few inches of his hair, too, right there in the Doc’s basement before heading to the Super Salon to get it properly trimmed. God forbid Piper should see him with his new face but recognize his hairstyle. Deacon had John the hair stylist dye his hair, too, a plain dirty blond, and mixed in some product to keep his hair from doing that wavy thing it liked to do. No way would Piper recognize him now. Take that, Piper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hmm. Maybe he was the crazy one. But he was also, you know, right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time he was done killing Alex and replacing him with Chris - overconfident caravanner from the South, new to the Commonwealth and looking for a place to settle - it was nearly noon. And he still didn’t know what Piper had put out in her morning edition. A pit of dread curled in his stomach as he listened to Nat, Piper’s kid sister, hawking the newspaper just down the walkway from the Super Salon. The rest of his mission was going to depend on what Piper had put in that paper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John finished with his hair, and Deacon tossed him his caps and left, making for Nat’s stand outside of Piper’s house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The latest news from the Commonwealth! Everyone who’s anyone reads the Publick Occurrences!” Nat caught sight of Deacon as he approached, switched her focus to him. “Hey mister! New in town? The Publick Occurrences will set you straight!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deacon handed Nat the five caps she was charging and took one of the papers with little more than a nod. Nat didn’t seem as all-knowing as her older sister, at least, not yet, but he didn’t want to give her any excuse to remember him. The last thing he wanted was for his new persona Chris to become a topic of conversation around the Wright family dinner table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He made for the stands, unfolding the paper and speed-reading through the article titles as he walked. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Some kid named Sheng Kowalski had opened up his own water business, that was her headliner. Everything else was small-time. Caravan changes, raider reports. No warnings about scar-eyed mercenaries anywhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t sit right with him, but it meant he should probably proceed as planned with the mission. He made for the lift to the mayor’s office. As long as Kellogg wasn’t on his guard yet (or more on his guard than usual, anyway), Deacon stood a chance at infiltrating his new house, and maybe figuring out what he was up to, or even gathering valuable intel on the Institute. He hit the lift button.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was unlike Piper, though. Last night, she’d sounded like a woman on a mission. Like she was about to plaster the town with wanted posters of Kellogg’s face, listing his various crimes. Had she backed off? Gotten scared? He’d never seen it happen to her before, but Kellogg was no joke. Unless - unless Kellogg had killed her, to silence her. Deacon felt like he was going to be sick, and it wasn’t just because he was about a hundred feet up in the air on a rickety two-hundred-year-old construction lift.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You don’t know that</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Deacon told himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Do your investigation, see what turns up. Don’t jump to conclusions.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The lift came to a halt in front of the mayor’s office, extending its walkway and idling precariously at the edge of the window. What a mess of a city. No, Deacon never did enjoy Diamond City much. He stepped in, carefully, keeping his eyes on the wall opposite and trying not to look down. Geneva greeted him as he walked in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Need something, honey? Housing permit? Looking for a job?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alright. Time to introduce Chris. Deacon flashed her a too-wide smile, adopting that salesman persona that only the least successful caravaners had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“New in town,” he said, as though it were the news of the year. “Looking for a place to set up shop while I run my caravan. I was told you were the one I should talk to about that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have two - oops, one house available,” Geneva said, leaning forward and digging through her papers, adopting a more professional air. “It’s the - yes, the one that’s left is in the center of town, right near the market. Perfect for a caravaner, don’t you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She flashed a salesman smile at him which rivaled his own. Damn. Christ needed some work, if Geneva was going to beat him at his own persona.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That does sound good,” he said, “I need to ask about security, though. Last settlement I was at, I had a good portion of my shipment stolen because the town hall kept the spare keys out where anyone could get them. I’d rather that not happen here - I’m starting a new route in the Commonwealth, I can’t afford mistakes like that so early on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geneva waved her hand, dismissing the idea. Deacon heard the lift get called back down to the ground, and realized they’d have company shortly. He just hoped it wasn’t Kellogg, come back for another meeting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t worry about that,” she said, pulling out a drawer from her desk and tapping it. Deacon caught a glance of a cup full of various keys, but only for a moment before she had closed and locked it again. “I keep all the spare keys right here, and the mayor’s office is guarded at all times. Besides, with the lift, it’s hardly like someone could sneak up here. No, your biggest worry would be lockpicks - and the houses around here have good, strong locks. The thin kind, too thin for bobby pins. You won’t find a safer place to keep your supply this side of the Commonwealth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deacon smiled, as though relieved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s a load off my mind,” he said. “I’d have to gather up my funds, but I’d be interested in that house. What’s the process like for getting one of those housing permits, anyway? I heard from someone you had to talk to the mayor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no, that won’t be necessary, I can handle everything right here. How long do you think it will take for you to - ” Geneva looked up, and her face closed down, her guard went up. “Hold on a moment for me, will you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deacon followed her gaze behind him - where Piper Wright, in her trademark red trench coat, was disembarking from the lift. Not Kellogg, then. Worse. Infinitely worse. He swiveled back to face Geneva, a little too quickly, and tried to regulate his heartbeat. No way she’d recognize him. His face was completely different, he’d made sure of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She’s alive</span>
  </em>
  <span>, part of him acknowledged, genuine relief washing through him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kellogg didn’t kill her</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She was, after all, just a civie, no matter how much she terrified him personally. He didn’t wish her dead. He just wished her, you know, elsewhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geneva!” Piper greeted, too cheery. Caffeine again. “You don’t look happy to see me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wonder why,” Geneva muttered, not quite quietly enough. “What do you need, Piper?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to talk to you,” she said, ignoring Geneva’s attitude. “Come on, Geneva. Don’t you have time for your old pal Piper?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was laying it on thick, emphasizing </span>
  <em>
    <span>pal</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Geneva and Piper had never gotten along well, Deacon knew that much, though Geneva was polite enough to pretend otherwise most of the time. To his dread, Geneva nodded to Deacon, drawing Piper’s attention to him. Not Deacon. Chris. Everything was fine, Chris looked nothing like Alex and this was fine. Sure. He told himself that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was actually busy getting this fine young man set up with a housing permit,” Geneva said, “so if you don’t mind - ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A housing permit? Really? Been selling a lot of those lately, haven’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Piper had already whipped out her notebook and pencil. Damn. If her draw time was as quick on her gun as it was on that damned notebook, she could be deadly in a shootout. Geneva gave a long-suffering sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t give away resident’s information, Piper. If you want to investigate the new arrivals, do it outside of my office. I’m sure you can find your victims down in the marketplace.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm, that’s just it, this new fellow, he doesn’t get out much. Doesn’t he deserve a warm Diamond City welcome? Gimme the location, and I’ll pay him a house call.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Piper. I’m not letting you bother that poor man. Go find something better to do, why don’t you? Maybe a man to flirt with?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Piper huffed, snapping her notebook closed and giving up on Geneva. She whirled on Deacon instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You!” she started, and Deacon nearly jumped out of his skin at the abrupt and unfortunate change in focus. “You’re here to get a housing permit - which house was she selling you? There were only two for sale last week, so which one is left, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geneva palmed her own face, trying to smooth down the stress lines forming on her forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Piper, please, don’t scare the man off. He hasn’t bought the house yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deacon held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, glancing between Piper and Geneva.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, lady. It sounds like I’m not supposed to tell you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Piper advanced on him, poking him in the chest with her pencil. Deacon almost tripped backing up, and landed against the wall, nowhere to back up to. He had to keep reminding himself that he had a new face, she wouldn’t recognize him, he had a new face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know you,” Piper said with confidence, and Deacon felt his shoulders sag in relief. “But I can tell you’re a good man. So you oughta know that this other new fellow is a very, very bad man. He’s killed a lotta good people, and I want Diamond City to be prepared now that he’s moving in here. Don’t you want to know what kinda town you’re moving into? Don’t you think the people here have a right to know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No offense,” Deacon said, crossing his arms in front of him, “but</span>
  <em>
    <span> I </span>
  </em>
  <span>don’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Maybe I’m not a good man, and maybe he’s not a bad man, and maybe I don’t care who lives here and who doesn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Piper dismissed it out of hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah,” she said. “I’ve got good instincts. And besides, I’ll prove it to you. You gimme the information I need, and I’ll show you what I’ve got on Kellogg, not to mention what you’ll be able to read in my paper once I’m through with him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deacon shook his head, then paused. It was a terrible idea, really. But what if she had info the Railroad didn’t? Information which could help their cause, save lives, stave off Kellogg? With Piper’s passion for investigation, it was likely she knew something valuable. And he needed a distraction if he was going to be able to steal that key. Piper, for good or ill, was the very definition of distracting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about the other way around? You show me what you’ve got on the guy, then maybe I dish.” Deacon saw Geneva’s stress lines return, and he flashed her an apologetic smile. “Sorry, sweetheart. I do wanna know what I’m moving into. New in town, and all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” Piper said, holding out a hand for a handshake that felt more like a warning than an agreement. “Meet me at the noodle stand in ten minutes. I’ll bring my notes on Kellogg. I’m Piper Wright, you are?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, Chris,” Deacon said, stumbling over the name because she was giving him that damn look again, like she was seeing right past his expensive facial surgery and memorizing his skeleton. “Chris Tiegler.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded, committing the name to memory, then turned on her heel and strutted out, hitting the button to bring the lift down without waiting to see if Deacon was following her. Deacon pushed off of the wall he was still plastered against, turning back to Geneva.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t believe half of what she tells you,” Geneva said. “She’s the biggest gossip in the Commonwealth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m more interested in lunch at the noodle stand,” Deacon assured her, trying to set her anxiety at ease. “You implied she was single?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Among other things,” Geneva said disparagingly. “You're a brave man. Come on back here if you want to talk more about that house.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will do,” Deacon said, heading for the lift as it returned to the top. “Wish me luck?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geneva snorted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll need it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah, I really will</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Deacon thought, clinging to the railing of the lift as it descended back down into the field. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the hell did I just agree to?</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It took five minutes, not ten, for Piper to show up at the noodle stand, a messy case file tucked under her arm. She sat right next to him, too close. It reminded him of sitting right next to her the night before, her eyes on him, seeing way more than most people ever did. <em> Do I know you</em>? But this time, her eyes were on her papers, as she opened the file in front of her and ordered a bowl of noodles from Takashi.</p>
<p>“Right,” Piper said, “here’s what I’ve got on Kellogg.”</p>
<p>So she was jumping right into it without even a ‘hello’ or ‘glad you showed.’ After all, it had taken a lot of courage to not just flake on this meeting, get the hell out of Diamond City, and let Glory take over the mission. But Deacon knew how that would play out - Glory had lost friends to Kellogg, too, and was liable to open fire if she saw his face. And if Railroad’s history with Kellogg was any indicator, that would just end with Glory dead. No, Deacon had to handle this one. Everyone else was either too heavy-handed or not skilled enough. Even Tommy Whispers relied on shadows for his stealth, he wouldn’t be able to operate in broad daylight in the middle of Diamond City like this. Although, the way things were going, Deacon wasn’t so sure of his own ability to do that, either.</p>
<p>Piper was spreading out her papers for Deacon to look at, handwritten accounts in various types of handwriting, a typed report from Nick Valentine, even some moderately well-developed clandestine photographs. Shit. How the hell had she gotten photos? And one of these photos...</p>
<p>“The hell is that?” Deacon asked, pointing to the gen one synth in the background of a shot of Kellogg in College Square.</p>
<p>Chris didn’t know what a synth was. Chris wasn’t from around here. Might as well play the part, ask the questions - find out exactly how much Piper knew. Piper’s eyes lit up when he asked.</p>
<p>“That’s a synth,” she explained. “We get those around here. Synthetic people. Sent from their hidden labs to do the Institute's dirty work. That’s an earlier model, and not nearly the scariest. But this picture proves that Kellogg’s connected to the Institute.”</p>
<p>“The Institute?” Deacon asked, because Chris didn’t know what the Institute was. Oh, to be Chris.</p>
<p> “The Commonwealth's boogeyman. Feared and hated by everyone. Sometimes they snatch people in the middle of the night. And sometimes they leave old synths behind to remind us that they're out there. No one knows much about them, but they’re bad news.”</p>
<p>“Well if no one knows much about them, how do you know they’re bad news?” Deacon asked, pushing the picture away. This was information he already had. Kellogg was with the Institute. He knew that all too well. “I’m not convinced.”</p>
<p>“Well then, forget the Institute,” Piper said. If only. “I’ve got a collection here of atrocities carried out by this piece of work. Some of the people he’s killed had it coming, but a fair share were innocent people just trying to get by. A farmstead out to the Northeast, it committed the crime of being in a spot someone else wanted and was willing to pay for. Farmstead wouldn’t sell, so the buyer gave their caps to Kellogg. He went in there and shot a husband and wife, three kids, and the wife’s older mother. Only survivor was the fourth kid who hid underneath the floorboards. Kelly Sandberg, she’s seventy-something now but she still remembers the screams. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”</p>
<p>That piqued Deacon’s interest. Bad intel, or a new lead? He picked the photo of Kellogg back up.</p>
<p>“Seventy-something?” he asked. “This Kellogg doesn’t look that old.”</p>
<p>“He’s a lot older than seventy-something,” Piper assured him. “I’ve got reports of him going all the way back to 2205, back when he was working for as an enforcer for the Shi, way out on the West Coast. I think it’s the Institute keeping him young. That or maybe the Kellogg we all know and loathe is a synth replacement. Hard to say.”</p>
<p>2205? That was about eighty years ago. And he would have had to already be an adult to be taken seriously as an enforcer out West. As terrifying as that was - not only a ruthless and skilled enemy, but an immortal one too? Come on - the lead had potential. Finally, Kellogg’s roots. A past. Maybe something the Railroad could touch, convince him to back off. Family? Blackmail? Enemies?</p>
<p>Deacon shook his head. He needed more info.</p>
<p>“I’m not buying it,” he said. “I may be new here, but only ghouls live that long, and he’s looking pretty good for a ghoul.”</p>
<p>Piper huffed in frustration, just as Takashi delivered her a bowl of freshly cooked noodles. She glanced at her bowl, and shoved the case file over to Deacon.</p>
<p>“Well, you can read, can’t you? Go through that, decide for yourself while I eat these noodles. I spent the entire morning combing the city for this jerk, I’m starved.”</p>
<p>Perfect. Deacon took the file from her, trying to look like he was skimming but committing every word to memory. All of this could be useful down the line. But these reports...</p>
<p>“Most of these reports are coming from the people who hired him,” Deacon said, after a few minutes.</p>
<p>Piper’s nose scrunched up in distaste. The same little nose scrunch she’d done last night when he’d offered her chems. It made him want to laugh when he saw it.</p>
<p>“Not my favourite interviews, I’ll admit. But in this case, that’s the only way to dig up info. With the exception of Kelly, which was an accident, Kellogg doesn’t leave survivors. Guess he doesn’t want enemies. Only way to track what he’s done is through the people that paid him to do it.”</p>
<p>Shit. That was smart. One of the reasons the Railroad had so much trouble gathering intel on Kellogg was exactly as Piper had said: he didn’t leave survivors. But she’d worked around that, and actually managed to get some information out of the people who’d hired him. Impressive, and frightening. And the photos...</p>
<p>“How about these?” Deacon said, pulling one of the clearer photos of Kellogg’s face out and flipping it around so Piper could see it. This one was a shot of Kellog coming out of a shop in the Fens. “How’d you get these, if he’s so dangerous?”</p>
<p>“It wasn’t easy,” Piper said. “I’ve spent the past two weeks investigating this guy, ever since I heard from Danny that the mayor was talking about moving him in.”</p>
<p>“You took these yourself?” Deacon blurted, before he could stop himself. Jesus, she was gonna get herself killed. Before Piper could answer, he moved onto the more important question. “How’s the mayor fit into this? Geneva said I didn’t have to talk to the mayor to move in here.”</p>
<p>“That’s what I can’t figure out,” Piper said, frowning and twirling her chopsticks in her fingers. “Why’s the mayor want a dangerous mercenary in his city? Especially after he led that awful campaign to expel all the ghouls, he’s known for being, well, selective. Is he being paid off? Is he being threatened? I don’t know, but I aim to find out. If the all-mighty Geneva lets me past the door, that is.”</p>
<p>Deacon flipped the page from an account of a caravan massacre to a mess of notes in Piper’s handwriting. He squinted, trying to make sense of them. There, the title - it was in the middle of the page, for some reason, with arrows pointing to ideas coming off of it. Really, who took notes like this? <em> Institute Connections </em> , the title read. Deacon nearly flipped past it, but paused when he saw a scribbled note off to the side, the words <em> Vault 111 </em> with half a dozen question marks circling it.</p>
<p>“What’s this about Vault 111?” Deacon asked. They'd long suspected the Institute was underground - could this vault be a way in? Had Kellogg been seen coming and going there?</p>
<p>Piper shrugged, waving her hand dismissively and resuming her noodles.</p>
<p>“Probably a dead end,” she said through a full mouth. “Caravaner said she saw him head through Sanctuary with some people in clean suits, maybe Institute-type, but it’s just one witness and there’s no way to confirm. I thought I’d follow up. Vault 111’s the only thing of real note in the area, but it’s all guesswork, and that report’s about sixty years old. Anyway, I’ve got other evidence connecting him to the Institute, it’s all there.”</p>
<p>Deacon looked at her sprawling mess of notes.</p>
<p>“Right,” he said. He ran through the files one more time, just to make sure he memorized them all. Even the small details could end up saving lives, maybe even help take Kellogg out. When he was done, he snapped the file shut, looking up at Piper.</p>
<p>“Alright, Piper. I got a proposition for you.”</p>
<p>“We already had a deal, Chris. You tell me which house Kellogg didn’t take, save me searching around town for the rest of the day. I’ve shown you what I’ve got, you can see that this guy’s no good.”</p>
<p>“<em> If </em> this intel is accurate,” Deacon said.</p>
<p>“I will have you know, - ” Piper started to defend, fiercely.</p>
<p>“If this intel is accurate,” Deacon cut her off, “then I don’t think ‘paying him a house call’ is the way to go, do you? At best, you’ll just make him more of a recluse, and you won’t be able to dig up any more information. At worst, well, you’ll become the information, you feel me?”</p>
<p>Deacon slid the file back to her as he spoke, raising one eyebrow suggestively. Piper examined him, pausing with her noodles halfway to her mouth for a moment before slurping them up decisevely.</p>
<p>“Well?” she said, looking Deacon over. “You’re talking like a man with a plan there, Chris. Care to share?”</p>
<p>Deacon leaned back. This could backfire, but he’d seen Piper break into places before. From a long, long ways away, to be sure. Before last night, he’d never traded more than a handful of words with her. But it was hard not to see all the trouble she got up to.</p>
<p>“I had questions about security, since I was looking at buying here. And Geneva showed me the spare keys. Right there in her desk drawer. If a reporter were to show up, demanding an audience with the mayor, and the all-mighty Geneva were forced to assume the role of gate guard...”</p>
<p>Piper leaned back, shock etched into her features. But she was buying it. He could tell, the eagerness there, the hunger in her eyes. She was hungry for this.</p>
<p>“That’s quite the proposal, there, Chris,” she said, one side of her mouth cocking upwards into a lopsided smile. “You always go filching keys your first day in a new town?”</p>
<p>“Only when pretty ladies talk me into it,” Deacon said, flashing Chris’ salesman smile.</p>
<p>“Har har,” Piper fake laughed, smacking him with her file. “Alright, this could work. You head back up, start talking to Geneva about that housing permit again. I’ll come in after you, cause a fuss - trust me, the guards and Geneva will be busy taking care of me. As long as you don’t make too much noise, you should be golden.”</p>
<p>She pushed away her empty noodle bowl and stood, a whirlwind of energy brushing by him and headed for her house without so much as a goodbye. Probably dropping off her file. Where the hell did she keep her information, anyway? Under lock and key? Or just laying out there on top of her desk, where anyone could find it? Diamond City was a disaster of a city, and Piper was a disaster waiting to happen. Deacon couldn’t wait to be through with both of them.</p>
<p>Though he had to admit, he was grateful for a partner on this job. A distraction, for Geneva and the guards. His chances of snatching that spare key otherwise were slim, and it sounded like the lock would be too difficult for him to pick.</p>
<p>Time to hit the lift again. Christ. He was glad he hadn’t wasted any money on lunch at the noodle stand, because there was a decent chance he’d have lost it on the ascent. Really, what kind of city did this? It was a safety hazard, if anything. Geneva smiled at him as his head ascended into view of the window.</p>
<p>“Back already?” she asked.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Deacon said, clambering off the lift and into the room. “Piper wasn’t really picking up on my hints.”</p>
<p>“She doesn’t do hints,” Geneva affirmed. “I hope she hasn’t scared you out of buying?”</p>
<p>“Not yet, she hasn’t. I do have a few more questions, though.”</p>
<p>Geneva shifted forward, adopting her professional manner once more.</p>
<p>“Ask away,” she said cheerily.</p>
<p>How long was Piper going to take to show up again? How long was he going to have to stall for time? Would it be too suspicious, Piper showing up while he was here, just like before? Should he have come as someone else? But then how would he have explained that to Piper?</p>
<p>Deacon took a breath, settled himself. <em> Play the cards you have. No use worrying about ‘should have’. This is the plan so play it out. </em></p>
<p>“How much is the house going to cost me? Do I have to pay regular rent or taxes, like in my last settlement? Do I own the house? Can I make modifications?”</p>
<p>Geneva’s eyes darted upwards and to the left, and she bit her lip, tracking and logging his questions. She pulled out some papers and started reviewing the city policies with him. Deacon leaned over the desk, bracing his hands on the edge of it and pretending he wasn’t busy listening for the creak of that lift.</p>
<p>Again, it took under five minutes for Piper to come along. It might have been suspiciously close timing, actually, but Deacon appreciated not being left out to dry all the same. Geneva was too good at her job, and was getting through his questions fairly efficiently. But Piper probably knew that.</p>
<p>“Fancy seeing you again,” Piper said, nodding at Deacon as she strode into the room. “Guess you didn’t take my warning.”</p>
<p>Geneva groaned.</p>
<p>“What is it now, Piper? Haven’t you bothered us enough for one day?”</p>
<p>“I need to meet with the mayor. I know he’s not busy, I can see him lording over Diamond City out of that window of his from the market.”</p>
<p>Piper was advancing on Geneva as she spoke, making the guards nervous. All eyes were on her. Not enough to let Deacon get away with filching the keys, but a good start.</p>
<p>“The mayor isn’t meeting with members of the press today,” Geneva said, her lips pressing into a firm line.</p>
<p>“Ooo, ‘members of the press’!” Piper said, throwing her hands up in the air to emphasize the big, scary title she’d been given. “There’s only one of those in Diamond City, and it’s me. Why don’t you just save yourself the syllables and hang a sign that says ‘Piper Wright Not Allowed’?”</p>
<p>“We might,” Geneva said tightly.</p>
<p>Piper started heading for the door, and Geneva rose to stop her. Good. Deacon shuffled to the other side of the desk, holding his arms out uselessly, as though wanting to mitigate the situation but unsure how. The move got him right next to the drawer with the keys.</p>
<p>“I’m a citizen, dammit! I have a right to an audience with the mayor!”</p>
<p>Piper made for the door, and the guard rushed in all at once, getting in to bodily restrain her. Perfect. All eyes were on Piper, everyone had left their posts. Deacon opened the drawer with the back of his heel, reaching his hand back and covering the cup full of keys with his sleeve, lifting it out, and shutting the drawer smoothly and quickly. All within the span of a second. Not bad.</p>
<p>He didn’t want people remembering him standing near the desk when the keys were discovered missing later, though, so he rushed into the fray as well, only a second behind everyone else.</p>
<p>Piper did a double take, and glared at him, when she realized he was nowhere near the desk, crowding around her with everyone else. After a frustrated grunt, she threw her hands up in the air.</p>
<p>“Alright, alright!” she snapped, and the guards slowly stepped away from her, ready to jump back in and grab her if this was a ruse. “I guess today isn’t the day. But I’ll be back tomorrow, Geneva. He can’t avoid me forever.”</p>
<p>“Would that he could,” Geneva said, watching Piper huff out of the office and back onto the lift. Geneva turned back to Deacon. “Sorry about that. Again. Do you have any more questions before you leave today?”</p>
<p>It would be too suspicious to leave right away, so Deacon stayed a few minutes to ask about the existing caravans in the area. He knew the answers already, of course, Old Man Stockton ran a fair share of them and he was one of the Railroad’s most important members. But he pretended it was all news to him, mulling over which routes he could hem in on and which would be best to steer clear of. Geneva suggested he plan a visit to Bunker Hill to learn more, and Deacon agreed that yes, that’d be a fantastic idea, and thank you for all your help.</p>
<p>Piper was waiting for him at the bottom of the lift. He saw her down there as he climbed back onto it, tapping her foot impatiently and looking ready to rip his head off. She wasn’t subtle.</p>
<p>“What was that about?” she demanded, before the lift had even fully reached the ground, tossing aside the cigarette she’d been smoking and advancing on him.</p>
<p>Deacon started walking, knowing she’d follow. Why the hell did she want to have a row out in the open like this? Where anyone could see?</p>
<p>“What was what about?” he hissed back, under his breath.</p>
<p>“We had a plan, Chris. I distract the guards, you snatch the keys. Or did you forget in all the excitement?”</p>
<p>Deacon stumbled for a moment, blinked. What? Then the realization hit him. A genuine, shit-eating grin spread across his features. She hadn’t seen him take the keys. Man, he was good. That was what she was so angry about. His grin spread wider.</p>
<p>“What? You think this is funny? Oohh, you are gonna get it, Chris. You’re on my shitlist, you hear me?”</p>
<p>Should he keep it to himself? If she didn’t know he had the keys, he could continue his investigation by himself, the way he wanted. But he was also looking at her furious posture, her furrowed brow. No, she wasn’t going to let this go. She never let anything go. He sighed, keeping the cup full of keys hidden within the sleeve of his heavy overcoat but jingling it once and cocking a suggestive eyebrow.</p>
<p>Piper started, looking down to his sleeve and back up at him.</p>
<p>“I - no way,” she said, an amazed smile replacing her glare. “You were only there for a second. I didn’t even see you move.”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t always a caravaner,” Deacon said, shrugging. It wouldn’t be wise to put that move down to beginner's luck, and Chris’s character could take this added detail. Stealing wasn’t an uncommon skill in the Commonwealth.</p>
<p>“No kidding,” Piper said, all of her excitement back. “Well alright. Let’s stake out the house, and the moment Kellogg steps out, we can sneak in and find out what he’s got in there, and why he never seems to come out. Time to cough up the information you owe me: which house did Geneva have on offer?”</p>
<p>Deacon sighed. This was a terrible idea, really. But Piper was investigating Kellogg, so if he was going to investigate Kellogg as well, they would just keep running into each other. The best option was to work together, so she wouldn’t grow suspicious of him. So she didn’t start investigating <em> him </em> too. Christ.</p>
<p>“The one near the market. In the fields.”</p>
<p>Piper snapped her fingers showily.</p>
<p>“Perfect! That means Kellogg got the one in the West Stands. It’s more off the beaten path, easier to sneak into. And it’s got a long walkway leading to it. We can see him coming and going without hanging out too close to the house and arousing suspicions.”</p>
<p>She was already making a beeline through the alley, without consulting and only half explaining. She was walking fast, too - Deacon had to do a little half-jog half-walk to keep up.</p>
<p>“Hey, uh, Piper,” he said, a little out of breath. “Are you sure you’ve thought this through?”</p>
<p>“Thought what through?”</p>
<p>“You know, uh, breaking into Kellogg’s place. I mean, you said it yourself. He has no enemies because he leaves no survivors. You could be - ”</p>
<p>“I didn’t say that,” Piper interrupted.</p>
<p>“I - what?”</p>
<p>“I didn’t say that,” she said, turning a corner with confidence and making for a bench with a view of the West Stands. “I said he leaves no survivors, not that he has no enemies. I’m his enemy. He just doesn’t know it yet.”</p>
<p>Was she <em> trying </em>to get killed? Deacon huffed in frustration, ran a hand through his hair. Piper sat down on the bench, giving him the stink-eye like he was being unreasonably cautious.</p>
<p>“What, you make enemies for fun? This some sick kinda hobby of yours?”</p>
<p>“No,” she said, digging around in her bag for a Nuka-Cola and uncapping it on the side of the bench. “But someone’s got to stand up to him. All those people he killed. They still matter, even if he thinks they never did, even if they’re gone now. They matter to me and I’ll make them matter to everyone else, too.”</p>
<p>And there was nothing Deacon could say to that. Not without seeming like a massive dick, anyway. He sat down next to her, leaning back and trying to take normal breaths, instead of hyperventilating like his body wanted to. Piper seemed to pick up on his nerves, and elbowed him, a friendly, strangely comforting ribbing.</p>
<p>“Hey, it’ll be alright, Chris,” she said, and winked conspiratorially. “I’ve got a good feeling about this one.”</p>
<p>Deacon snorted.</p>
<p>“You had a good feeling about me, too. Your instincts need some fine-tuning.”</p>
<p>He pulled a stolen key out of his sleeve and flipped it like a quarter for emphasis. Piper rolled her eyes.</p>
<p>“What, so you’re not a good man because you’re good at filching stuff?” she snatched the key in midair, lightning quick, turning it over in her hands. “You should see what my kid sister gets up to.”</p>
<p>“I’m serious, Piper,” Deacon said, and he was, he was being serious, because for a while today he’d thought there was a good chance she was dead. And she didn’t deserve that. “You can’t trust your safety to assumptions like that. No one’s instincts are that good. You’re just going to get yourself hurt. Or worse, that kid sister you’re talking about.”</p>
<p>Piper sucked in a breath, stiffened.</p>
<p>“Low blow, buddy,” she hissed.</p>
<p>“Listen, I’m just - I don’t know you, but I’m just, you know, concerned. Just some friendly advice.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I know,” Piper said. After a solemn moment, she flashed him a small, mischievous smile. “You know why I know?”</p>
<p>Deacon sighed. He was starting to develop Geneva’s same stress lines.</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>She snapped her fingers again, victorious, like she had the winning point in an argument.</p>
<p>“Because you’re a good man. I can tell.”</p>
<p>Deacon deflated, darting his eyes away. If only.</p>
<p>“And speaking of <em> bad </em> men,” Piper said, clutching his shoulder all of the sudden. “Don’t look now, but we’ve got tall, old, and ugly on your ten o’clock. Ready to raid the home base of an Institute operative?”</p>
<p>Christ. <em> Here we go </em>.</p>
<p>“Ready as I’ve ever been,” Deacon said, and that much, at least, was true.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The keys were labelled - testament to Geneva’s fastidiousness - so they didn’t have to spend dangerous seconds trying different keys in Kellogg’s door. Piper nabbed the one labeled </span>
  <em>
    <span>West Stands #1</span>
  </em>
  <span> from somewhere near the top of the collection and made straight up the walkway, not being particularly stealthy, but quick enough, anyway. Deacon supposed wearing that bright red overcoat all the time and being as loud as she was in general, stealth wasn’t her forte, but she’d been able to get away with a thing or two by being quick and confident enough to walk by the people who should be stopping her before they had the chance to interfere. He could respect that. He’d done some pretty impressive things himself with nothing more than a clipboard and the right attitude.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But there was no one up here to stop them, anyway. Kellogg had probably chosen the WestStands location over the house in the fields for its privacy. There was nothing else up here, like Piper had said, a whole walkway devoted to leading to one house. The moniker </span>
  <em>
    <span>West Stands #1 </span>
  </em>
  <span>which Geneva had neatly scrawled on the key label suggested future plans for development in the West Stands, but by the looks of it there was nothing happening anytime soon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” Piper said, pausing with the key just shy of the lock and bracing herself. “If he comes back while we’re still in there, we say we’re city inspectors. That should buy us time enough to get out before he catches onto the bluff.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If he comes back while we’re still in there,” Deacon said, making a face, “he’ll shoot us on sight. Just be quick and let’s make sure we’re out before then, yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deacon liked backup plans, but there was no realistic backup plan for Kellogg finding two people breaking into his house. They’d both be dead, instantly. They’d be lucky if they got a shot off in retaliation. Piper huffed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Think positive,” she said, and opened the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deacon darted inside fairly quickly - there was no use lingering in the doorway, waiting for Kellogg to see them and shoot them. It was kind of...plain, inside. Bare. His eyes fell immediately on the desk, the spy’s treasure trove, a typical carrier of various intel. But before he could even move to search it, a hard pit of dread formed in his stomach on examining the only other items in sight. A television, and some comics, littered on the ground around it. A toy car. Some rough and colourful chalk drawings.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Something’s not right here,” Deacon said, in a voice just barely loud enough for Piper to catch as she shut the door and followed him into the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t think Kellogg was into toy cars. Didn’t strike him as the type. And if they’d only seen Kellogg leave...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whaddya mean?” Piper asked, at full volume, and Deacon could have died on the spot from stress alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Noise, from just above them. A loft over their heads. The sound of mattress springs, someone getting out of a bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mr. Kellogg?” a child’s voice asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, shit,” Piper said under her breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deacon turned for the door. It was time for them both to run. He didn’t know who this kid was, but he obviously knew Kellogg, and Deacon hadn’t planned on anyone else being in the house when he searched it. There were too many variables here. Why </span>
  <em>
    <span>wouldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> they leave? But Piper grabbed him by the arm, confident, too confident. He felt his blood pressure spike dangerously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re safety inspectors from the city,” Piper said, smiling at the kid as he came down the stairs from the loft. “We didn’t mean to disturb you. What’s your name? Is Mr. Kellogg home?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The kid rubbed at his eyes, looking between the two of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t know any safety inspectors were coming. I’m not supposed to talk to strangers. Or give out my name.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Piper leaned down to get eye level with him. She was good with kids, and this kid even looked about the same age as Nat, Piper’s kid sister.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s a good policy,” she said. “But you can trust us, I promise. We make sure people are safe, that’s all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deacon leaned in, speaking too quietly for the kid to overhear, but gripping Piper’s arm tight enough that she would catch the urgency.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We need to go,” he whispered, “now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes darted to him, shifting into a glare for a moment. An obvious refusal. Christ, they were both gonna die here. Deacon took a step back, glancing around like Kellogg might jump out from behind - well, there wasn’t much for Kellogg to be hiding behind, but still. Why wasn’t Piper listening to him? He needed to drag her out of here, hopefully she would be sensible enough not to draw attention to them on the walkway, but - </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I haven’t seen you around town,” Piper said, talking to the kid again. A note of worry pitched her voice. “Is Mr. Kellogg your dad?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deacon stilled, realizing: she was worried about the kid. Of course. Of course she was worried about the kid, why hadn’t that been his first thought? Why the hell was there a kid in Kellogg’s house, anyway? Had he been kidnapped? A hostage for a family Kellogg was extorting for some reason? Shit. No way they could leave, not if they were leaving a kid behind. What the hell was wrong with him?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The kid was shaking his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” he said, “my father told Mr. Kellogg to look after me for a while. He paid for this house here in Diamond City, and told Mr. Kellogg to keep me safe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Piper affirmed. “And are you? Safe? Here, with Mr. Kellogg?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The kid nodded emphatically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. Mr. Kellogg’s nice. Kinda sad sometimes. He said he had a kid once, so sometimes I remind him of that. He enjoys taking care of me. Probably he misses his own kid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What happened to the kid?” Deacon blurted. Probably not the best question to ask a kid, but this was relevant information to the Railroad. Family, history, enemies, weaknesses. Something to use against Kellogg.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bad men came to kill his wife and baby,” the kid said, scrunching up his forehead like it was difficult to remember, like he’d been told these things a long time ago. “Mr. Kellogg said it was his fault, but I don’t know about that. Not if it was the bad men who did it and not him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So that’s all Mr. Kellogg is in town for?” Piper interrupted. “Just keeping you safe here behind the wall?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The kid nodded assuredly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s what my father said.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And your father hired Kellogg?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh-huh. What’s this have to do with safety inspecting?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Piper stood to her full height, ruffling the kid’s hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing - just making sure you’re okay. We’ll come back later when Mr. Kellogg’s here to do an inspection on the house, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The kid looked relieved. After all, they were strangers in his house when he hadn’t expected anybody.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure thing,” the kid said. “Thanks Miss! And, uh, Mister!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Piper turned and walked out of the house, and Deacon, for lack of a better plan, followed. The kid was watching him closely, so there was no way he’d be able to get at that desk. And there was no guarantee there’d be anything of use in the desk anyway. The house was bare but for the kid’s things, really.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Piper re-locked the door behind them and made a quick pace for the end of the walkway. The disadvantage of that private walkway was that, if Kellogg caught them on it, it wouldn’t be difficult to piece together where they were coming from. Deacon didn’t rest easy until they made it to the alley just past the old dugout that housed Diamond City security, behind the schoolhouse, and Piper leaned against the wall and lit a victory cigarette. Actually, he didn’t rest easy then, either, but the high-pitched tinny noise ringing in his ears lessened a little bit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Deacon said, leaning on the wall next to her and trying to reclaim his heartbeat. “That was a pointless risk of our lives.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pointless?” Piper snorted. “I’m relieved. Not to be paranoid, but I half-thought Kellogg was building a bomb in there or something. Thought maybe the Institute had decided to put an end to Diamond City. Turns out someone finally hired him for something good. Protecting a kid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you buy that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eh,” she said, shrugging. “Kids are bad liars. In any case, Kellogg won’t be able to get away with anything after I write up this article. Once the people know who he is, they can keep him in line.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deacon tried to be silent. He really did. He opened his mouth, closed it. Took deep breaths, counted to ten. But in the end it didn’t help.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re still gonna write your fucking article? Even with that kid in there?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Piper froze, taking in his change in tone, reinterpreting his tension as more than just stress. She titled her head up, confrontationally, squared her jaw.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah I am,” she said, staring him down. “Why wouldn’t I? I’m not afraid of Kellogg.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should be,” Deacon snapped. “And for that matter, you should be afraid of the people as well. What is it you think you’re going to accomplish here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The people will know what they’re up against, they’ll be able to protect themselves from - ”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘The people’ are going to form a fucking lynch mob, Piper,” Deacon said, feeling like he was going to be sick. “And a fair number of them are gonna start looking pretty closely at that kid, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could see it already. Maybe they’d storm Kellogg’s house, and Kellogg would kill half the town. Deacon had seen Kellogg blow through dozens of trained agents, or raiders, or even Gunners. People who stood a chance, most of the time. Some Diamond City townies, used to being protected by the wall? As if. And that kid...Kellogg may be practically invincible, but that kid wasn’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, please,” Piper said, rolling her eyes. “Not everyone’s as bitter and jaded as you, Chris. No one’s gonna go after the kid, and no one’s gonna form a lynch mob. They’re just gonna keep an eye out. After all, what better way to protect that kid than to make sure everyone knows he’s there? If no one knows, then the kid could disappear. You ever think about that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She did her finger snap thing again, as though she’d found the winning point in an argument, but Deacon was shaking his head, pushing off the wall and pacing. Why didn’t she listen? Why couldn’t she be satisfied with simply endangering </span>
  <em>
    <span>herself</span>
  </em>
  <span>? She pushed off the wall, too, her smile dropping a little.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Chris,” she said, reaching an arm out for him, “really, you need to stop worrying - ”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve seen it happen,” Deacon said, his voice breaking on the words. He didn’t mean for his voice to break. He didn’t mean to say those words, either. But he continued, anyway, blinking some emotion out of his eyes that he didn’t want to be there, looking away from Piper because sometimes she saw too much. “I’ve seen it happen, and you need to start worrying, Piper. Towns string people up for less. If people read that file, bad things are going to happen, I promise you that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He saw Piper pause, actually think it over. Thank god. All it had taken was digging up one of the worst memories of his life. Simple. He shook his head, trying to calm down, reminding himself that he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Chris</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Chris</span>
  </em>
  <span> had never strung anyone up, wasn’t haunted by bulging eyes and the feel of rope in his own hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll run a mollified version,” she said, finally. “I’ll tell the truth, but I won’t cause a panic. Okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Deacon said, regretting every decision he’d made since entering Diamond City. Why’d Piper always have to complicate things? “Yeah, sure, whatever you think is best.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” she said, elbowing him in that strangely comforting way once more, “not just anyone would be so concerned about all this. Not just anyone would come along with me on a ‘pointless risk of our lives.’ Sure you’re not a good man in disguise?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deacon laughed nervously. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kind of the opposite</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought. Instead of answering, he dug the cup full of keys out of his pocket. Shook it so the keys rattled around inside it and caught her eye. After all, one part of this subterfuge had been left unfinished. That ought to be enough to distract her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, we’ve got one pointless risk left,” he said. “How are we gonna return these? I’d rather not get thrown into a Diamond City jail cell tonight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He expected Piper to laugh, but she was staring at the keys, like she’d realized something. Something about the keys? About Kellogg? She looked at Deacon’s face. Then back at the keys.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do that again,” she said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bottom dropped out of Deacon’s stomach.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shit. That was right. He’d shaken the bottle of Daytripper pills the same way last night, when he’d been trying to distract Piper from his contact. Shit shit shit. It was fine, he was Chris now, Chris looked nothing like Alex, there was no way she’d piece that together. She’d just been reminded, that was all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do what?” Deacon asked, colouring his tone with confusion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Piper’s eyes snapped back to his face, her jaw dropping open.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re playing dumb,” she said, accused, advancing on him. “That means you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> what I’m talking about! It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> you! What did you say your name was? Alex?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, it’s me, Chris?” Deacon said, as though she were crazy. Really, she was, she had to be, the fact that she was also right didn't matter, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be crazy. "I don't know what you're - "</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She snapped her fingers again, that stupid 'ah-hah' victory snap that was going to give him a heart attack.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Now I remember!" she said, and Deacon didn't like that. "Last night, I couldn't figure out where I recognized you from - "</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Last night?" Deacon asked, a desperate denial, but Piper ignored that. She knew she was right, and plowed right on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You're that security guard! The one that wasn't on the schedule!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deacon nearly fell over. The time he'd disguised himself as Diamond City security? That had been three years ago! She'd made him then? His tongue tasted like cotton, and he forced his face to remain calm, to adopt a judgemental mask. The kind of face Chris would wear if a crazy lady was throwing wild accusations at him. But Piper wasn't buying it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> I recognized you - but your face was different, definitely different, so I wasn't sure! You must have - of course you changed your face, your face was different last night. I've been walking around with you all day without recognizing you. So you, what? You go around changing faces, filching keys, and preventing lynch mobs?" She was advancing on him, the gears turning in her head just as fast as she could speak, putting the pieces together out loud and realizing them the moment they left her mouth. Deacon stumbled backwards. Could he run? Was he close enough to the exit? "What's your game?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I - " he tried, scrambling for something, anything. He wasn't close enough to the exit. If he tried to run and she called security, he'd be shot in the back. "Alright, you caught me. I've been following you, I just, I think you're amazing, and beautiful, and intelligent, and I wanted to - "</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Bullshit," she said, cutting him off. "A stalker wouldn't fess up so easy."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"He would if he was terrified of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>very intense</span>
  </em>
  <span> woman backing him into a corner," Deacon said, demonstrably, as she backed him into a corner near the edge of the dugout. She ignored him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"But that's intriguing. If you're not a stalker, and you're willing to pretend to be one, that means your hiding something a lot more serious. You - " Piper cut herself off, looking Deacon up and down again. "Wait. Jeffrey? The caravan guard! The one that looked just like the drifter from Quincy, what did you call yourself that time, David? No, Dennis, it was Dennis!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And, dammit. That was the identity she'd made last year. The reason he’d been avoiding Diamond City. Deacon gulped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Listen, Piper," he started.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she wasn't listening. She grabbed him by the lapels of his coat, a note of fear, of anger, of confusion all mixed up in her tone as she spoke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Say," she said, scanning and re-scanning his face as if trying to match it to all the others she'd ever seen, "just who the hell are you, anyway?!?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deacon tried to think of a story. Something she would buy, something to get him out of this. But he was too exposed like this, right under her gaze, held by her against the wall just outside Diamond City security. There was no comfort to draw from, no alias to hide behind. He couldn’t calm himself down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"My name is Chris," he insisted, obstinate, and it was less a story than it was a vain attempt to comfort himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Piper ignored that, pulled back just a bit, started thinking out loud again. Dismissing his attempts to sell her anything but the truth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You're good at theft, which suggests you're good at sneaking, infiltration, investigation. And what have you infiltrated? Kellogg, you're here to investigate Kellogg. You were never buying a house, you were figuring out which house had been bought. Smart. And the recurring facial surgeries say you're serious, a professional. And it's no personal vendetta, no one-time project, you've been doing this for years. You're with the Institute? Infiltrating Diamond City? No, the Institute wouldn't need one guy making face changes, they'd just send a different synth. So you're - ” She dropped her hold on him all of the sudden, took a step back. Her whole posture changed. “Oh, shit, it's true, isn't it?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Piper," Deacon tried again, not even knowing what he was going to say, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> had to be better than this. He could claim he was from the Institute after all, that they were low on synths so they had to recycle, something, whatever. “You caught me, I work with Kellogg to - ”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's true," she said, a wild smile spreading across her face. "The Institute does have enemies. The Railroad. That's why you're investigating Kellogg, you're with the - "</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He clapped his hand over her mouth, and she was too excited to even bother pushing it away. She just grinned ear to ear past his hand, waved one finger at him, a silent </span>
  <em>
    <span>I knew it</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Shit, this was bad. What were the odds she kept silent about this? After all, she didn’t have any proof. No file to reference. She hadn’t taken clandestine photos of him, had nothing more than her own intuition.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Deacon said, and Piper started shaking her head, “but! But, if any of that were true - which it isn’t - do you want to maybe think about the consequences? If the Institute does have enemies, they keep hidden for a reason. So don’t even think about grabbing that notebook of yours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Piper stepped back, throwing his hand off of her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that a threat?” she challenged.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If it has to be,” Deacon said, “but it’s also an appeal to your better judgement. If you investigate the Railroad - if you publish any information about them - it’s already an uphill battle against the Institute. If you make private information public, my friends will die. Good people will die. Do you understand?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Piper grunted, frustrated but acknowledging the point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine,” she said, “I’ll run a - ”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No mollified version,” Deacon said, “no half-measures. That won't be enough. And if the Institute thinks you know something, they'll come for you, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well I'm not afraid of the Institute, either."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deacon reached deep into a padded section of his overcoat, where he’d hidden his gun, and pulled it out. Piper pulled her 10mm the moment she saw metal - she was as quick on the draw as he’d suspected she would be. But Deacon was pulling his out by the barrel, and he handed it to her grip-first.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Either you say nothing,” he growled, keeping his hand on the barrel as she took the grip and pointing the dangerous end of it at his chest, “or you shoot me now, and save the Institute the trouble.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus, you’re dramatic,” Piper said, but he was getting through to her, he could tell. There was that thoughtful tilt to her head, that uncertain biting of her lip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stowed her gun, let go of his. Raked his new face with her eyes, searching for something more, as if she hadn’t just figured out everything on her own. Based on what? The rattling of some keys? She was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>menace</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Deacon started settling his gun back into its hidden compartment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One condition,” Piper said, and even though he was dreading what she’d ask for, he couldn’t help but feel grateful. If she made an agreement, conditions and all, she’d probably keep to it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you want?” Deacon asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Piper’s lips twitched up into that crooked half-smile again. Deacon didn’t like that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me your name,” she said, “and don’t say Chris.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Damn. All things considered, it was probably one of the few pieces of information he could give her which </span>
  <em>
    <span>wouldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> endanger the Railroad. It didn’t change the fact that he simply did not want to tell her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you accept Jeffrey?” he asked. “Perhaps Dennis?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smacked him playfully on the arm, as if this were casual banter between friends, as if he had not just put his own gun in her hands and told her to shoot him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on,” she said, “your name. What people call you. I can tell when you’re lying now, I’ve got you all figured out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Deacon didn’t like that at all. He shoved the cup full of keys at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I tell you,” he said, “and then I leave, alright? You handle the keys, you keep quiet about, you know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and I walk out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If that’s what you want.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Piper took the keys, and Deacon closed his eyes. All things considered, this could have turned out worse. It could have turned out a hell of a lot better, too, but it could have turned out worse. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s not over yet.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“People call me Deacon,” he said, finally. “It’s not my name, but my name doesn’t matter. People call me Deacon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Piper grinned, sliding the keys into her pocket.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll take it,” she said, turning on her heel and making for her next adventure, whatever that wound up being. “See you around, Deacon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As if. Deacon had no intention of ever interacting with her again. From here on out, he intended to steer clear of Piper Wright.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Publick Occurrences</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Friday, December 4, 2285</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Danger Next Door</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By Piper Wright</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Diamond City, do you know your neighbor?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Do you know the guards that keep our city safe? The caravaners that keep our city supplied? The drifters, the drug dealers, the Jeffries and Dennises of this town? It’s tempting to keep your head down, with all the danger that surrounds us on a daily basis. But our blinders will not protect us. And so I ask Diamond City: do you know your neighbor?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We have a new neighbor in our fine city. The mysterious Conrad Kellogg, whom no one knew anything about - that is, until this reporter started to do some digging. Kellogg has a dark past, Diamond City. Everything I have dug up on the man suggests that he is a danger, one that has chosen to move right next door to where we work, eat, sleep, and live our lives. The old Kellogg, the one I have done all my research on, would be a threat to every one of us. And yet, I look at the file I have in front of me and I wonder, do I know my neighbor?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because Kellogg did not come into Diamond City alone. He is accompanied by a young boy, a boy whose father is paying Kellogg for protection. Kellogg is a mercenary. The things Kellogg has done, he’s done for money. He’s killed innocents, burned homesteads, perhaps even destroyed settlements, all for money. And now, for money, he protects a child. In the past, Kellogg has done things which are unforgivable, there is no denying that. But today, when you see your new neighbor, remember why he is here, and that it is not to harm you, or anyone else in our city.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So for now, Diamond City, we let sleeping dogs lie. But we do not turn a blind eye. Today, Kellogg is one of us. But tomorrow? If someone, again, gives him money to do harm? There is no action to be taken today. But it is our duty, as neighbors, as citizens of Diamond City, to watch Conrad Kellogg very carefully. We’ve got our eye on you, stranger. And I’m not done with you.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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